Close Security
by LaurelNymph
Summary: Prisoner!Spain attempts to seduce prison guard!Sweden in an attempt to get his help so that Spain can break out. Deanon from the kink meme.


Deanon from the kink meme. I'm only posting the first part of the fill here because the rest breaks ff dot net's rules about smut and I'd rather not have my account deleted. The whole fill can be read on my LJ, linked to in my profile.

Please enjoy and review.

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Berwald's alarm went off every day at exactly 19:00. He would rouse himself from sleep and head off to take a shower and brush the sawdust from his hair.

By 19:30, he'd had ample time to get cleaned up, eat dinner, and start the drive to the high-security prison nestled in the mountains, far away from the quiet respectable town in which he lived. A 30 minute drive brought him to his 20:00 – 04:00 shift exactly on time.

Every day.

Eight hours of checking locks and windows to make sure no one had tampered with them, of leading prisoners to and from their cells, and of checking them for contraband later, he would go home. Filled with adrenaline from being on guard (both literally and figuratively) always left him standing in his front hallway at 04:30, too energized to sleep. His uniform was stripped off unceremoniously, exchanged for worn jeans and a stained T-shirt before he made his way to his wood shop.

All of his anxieties, all of his memories of prisoners' stories, their insults, their crimes, all of it, ended up carved, sanded, and nailed into wood. When light finally crept into the windows, Berwald would set down his tools, satiated for the day, and eat a quick breakfast before falling into bed, covered in saw dust and wood chips and unspeakably _bored._

Just like every other day.

Berwald had always enjoyed his alone time, had always enjoyed his silence, had always enjoyed his routine. But something had changed, and he wasn't sure what had caused it. Whatever it was that had caused the change, his routine had morphed from pleasantness into something so crushingly boring that he wanted to scream.

Sometimes when the boredom felt too crushing, he would kick off his boxers and fist himself. Release was always predictable and unremarkable. Rather like everything in his life at the moment. In the end, Berwald would always wonder whether he finished more bored than before and how long it would be before something changed.

The monotony was broken with the arrival of a new prisoner.

The arrival itself was nothing special; he was brought in an armored bus along with the others, wearing an unflattering orange jumpsuit and chains looped around his wrists, ankles, and his middle for the trek to the cells. What did stand out was a mop of curly hair and tanned skin, dark and exotic amongst the line of pale, blonde prisoners. A bold grin stretched across his face, contrasted with the surly faces of his peers as they shuffled toward the correctional officers to be taken to their separate cells.

He couldn't take his eyes off him. Antonio's eyes met his own and he felt frozen, helpless, unable to move as Antonio was marched closer and closer to him. Berwald's hands, steady from years of work perfecting his craft, were suddenly clumsy as he unlocked the prisoner from the others to steer him toward H Block. He could hardly believe this man, grinning broadly, was here for homicide. Then again, he'd been surprised by inmates before.

"Hello! My name is Antonio! What's yours?"

_That_ was a first. Berwald frowned more deeply and ignored him.

"Aww, not a talker? That's okay! I'm told I talk enough for three people!"

Berwald wasn't sure why the prisoner—Antonio, his mind supplied—was talking to him. He picked up an accent as he spoke; something foreign that stumbled over the pronunciation in almost musical lilts. Berwald tried to keep ignoring him, but it prickled at his psyche, this break in routine. Berwald wasn't sure if it was the good sort of prickling or not, so he tried once again to ignore the man and deposited the chatty inmate in his cell. Unlocking his handcuffs, Berwald found his hands lingering on warm skin and he flushed with shame when he realized that he'd held on much longer than was necessary or appropriate. As he fumbled to remove the chains so that he could _stop touching him_, Berwald noticed, too late, that there was a calculating gleam in Antonio's eyes before _it_ happened.

One hand came up to Berwald's chest and Berwald's fingers clenched around the handle of his nightstick from instinct. Before he could do anything, the hand trailed down his chest and curled around his back to squeeze his ass. Berwald saw and felt it all in slow motion, like blazing hot coals raked across his body. All the while, Antonio's stupid grin turned into a cross between a smirk and a smolder and his tongue flicked out to lick at his lip as he gave his correctional officer's ass another squeeze. Berwald could feel his cheeks start to warm as the pit of his gut burned with a sudden flare of arousal.

"I'll see you around, Berwald," the prisoner says brightly, his smile quickly going back to dopey and losing that calculating edge as if he hadn't just groped his correctional officer. Berwald backed off after locking the cell and retreated, oddly thrilled and with his heart pounding.


End file.
